Chuck versus Torture and Broken Dreams
by ChuckerPunch
Summary: Chuck gets captured and during his torture, he remembers some not-too-pleasant pieces of his past. Some Chuck/Sarah. Not a feel-good story..... Warning: Character death and torture.


Disclaimer: I don't own Chuck. If I did, episode 3x07 would have been different. Hell, if I owned Chuck, the entire season 3 would be different.

A/N: Okay so this one I had started like a few weeks ago but only had one paragraph done….I'm a slacker…but last night I got a burst of inspiration and started writing again. It made me cry…but I cry at everything Chuck. Seriously you can give me a very sad book or movie and I won't cry but the minute Chuck comes on and something Charah happens I am trying to contain my sobs (I cried over the Barstow incident, the wedding, when she said she was going to leave) Anyway enjoy, R&R, and don't cry. It's not even that sad...

* * *

Blood oozed out of long cuts covering Chuck's well defined back and landed in a growing puddle on the ground below him. Each stroke of the whip was more painful than the last. It had almost become unbearable for him, but he had to press on. He had to show no signs of weakness and not react at all when the whip cracked against his bare skin.

His torturer put precision and strength into every swing. The air was cut in half each time and made a delightful Swoosh! sound. This was an important assignment for the Ring Agent who held the whip. He had been told from the higher ups that this agent held important government secrets. He was also told it would be an easy job; after all, he had been alone and without backup. The CIA was never that sloppy; he had to have either gone rogue or disobeyed direct orders. Either would be just as good, it meant a team of CIA agents might be bursting through the doors at any second.

The whip cracked again as it ripped through his flesh. Yet he showed no emotion. It wasn't the Intersect responsible for this. It was a very betrayed and very hurt Chuck. It was Carmichael, the perfect agent. With each crack he could feel the enemy agent becoming more and more angry that he couldn't get the information. Each swing became less precise and more aggressive. The pain was unbearable, but it wasn't anything Charles hadn't faced before. This sort of thing was a walk in the park compared to some things he had to deal with.

Charles Carmichael was almost completely void of all emotions a human being could feel. The only emotions were toward his job and his country. His feelings were like Casey's on steroids. He hadn't cared about anyone for two years. Two years ago he had joined the agency as a full member. Ever since that his life changed; things fit into place like a puzzle that only had a few pieces left. But like a lot of puzzles, it was missing pieces. Pieces that had either been left out on purpose to annoy and aggravate the person putting the puzzle together or pieces that had been lost at various stages of putting the puzzle together. But maybe, just maybe, someone was holding those pieces in their pocket waiting for someone to reclaim them.

With every swing of the whip Chuck just smiled. He knew it made his torturer even more angry and frustrated. But he didn't care; he almost enjoyed the pain. It brought him closer to a place he had wanted to go; a place he needed to go.

His brain could barely process anything after awhile. It kept going in and out of consciousness. It kept going to a place he had forgotten except in his nightmares he had almost every night. It took him to a place where he kept all of his ghosts, all of his skeletons he had locked up in the closet. And as his mind began to slip away and the whip cracked against his raw flesh, his vision blurred and showed a sickening picture.

* * *

His shoes made a noisy clanking sound against the cold metal of a Ring base. He could care less at the moment because he was focused on a little dot on the map he had flashed on. That and the cold gun that he held in front of him. It was foreign and he had stolen it from a obviously dead agent, but it offered him security and protection even if he was against the idea of actually using it.

He wanted to stop and catch his breath. His brain, legs, heart, and almost every other body part was screaming at him to stop running and take a breather. But his heart was telling him to keep running and not stop until he found it. By he had already gone in a circle five times and taken fourteen wrong turns. And yes, he was counting.

Eventually he came to a stop. The stop felt like hours but was probably no more than two or three minutes. His shoes stopped making an awkward clanking sound and now made no sound. The air was denser here and smelled musky. There was also another smell he couldn't quite tell what it was. It was foreign and like nothing he had ever smelt before. But he wasn't paying attention to that. Instead he was paying attention to the door in front of him. The door that would lead him to his future and show him all of his flaws. Opening this would be the most foolish mistake of his life, but he had no other choice.

Of course he should have listened to his instincts and not opened the door. But the whole atmosphere did things to his mind. Things that made him so much different, so unlike Chuck. Or maybe it was like Chuck, selfless and passionate yet foolish and ignorant. But the seconds, minutes, hours, or whatever amount of time it took to turn the icy cold knob and push the door into The Room felt like an eternity. And just like that the door crept open and told a grim story he would have wanted to forget.

* * *

He was brought back to reality when the whip yet again cracked against his oozing flesh. The pain was almost unbearable. It would have been unbearable if he actually had something to live for but he didn't. Anything the man said wasn't audible to him. Sharp screeches and muffled noises were the only things that he could hear. He saw for the first time the door open. It was momentarily blocked before a black figure moved through the doorway and slammed the door, closing off the source of light. Eventually the man came closer and Chuck could see his face. It was unlike anything else he had seen before.

The man's face was twisted and distorted. There were scars all over along with various tattoos. His eyes were black and squinted. His grungy black hair that looked oiled and greased fell down in clumps along his face. When he smiled and his blood red lips weren't in the way, Chuck could clearly see ivory white teeth that had obviously been filed down in sharp points on purpose. But the worst of it was the look the man gave him. It was the most evil thing he had ever seen before. And in the instance he realized something. That was the man that was responsible for everything. For all this. And in that instance he wanted to kill the man, he wanted to string his body up for days and inflict such pain on him he cried and begged for his life.

Everything he had wanted for the past two years was in front of him. Everything he had wanted to do was so close to him. It was literally within reaching distance. But when he tried to move his arm, the poor limb only shook a little before falling down in its place. Nothing in his life he could finish. Every dream he had was a plate being thrown down on the hard, wood floor. But he still had hope. He still had one dream that could be completed. And although that dream wasn't a conventional dream, he wasn't a conventional guy. He had learned that nearly five years ago.

Instead of a whip, this time it was a bare fist. The fist had made contact with his bare cheek, causing his head to jerk to the left. When he grunted a little, the torturer simply laughed.

"I will tell you what Carmichael. I will release you. I have faith in my abilities. You will talk!" the man said in a thick Russian accent. His breath smelled worse than some dead bodies and he spit at every word, but Chuck could deal with that. And although Chuck couldn't physically laugh without causing massive pain from one of his broken ribs, he could still laugh on the inside.

The man released him from his bonds and he fell onto the floor in a disheveled pile. He couldn't move so he just laid there and prayed that the man was kind enough to not disturb him. Which he wasn't. He had laughed before at the other man when the pain wasn't bad. But this man was ten times worse. He almost made Chuck want to tell him everything. But he would take these secrets to the grave.

As his mind raced, he could barely keep consciousness. His mind thought of almost anything he could think of. But they were all things that involved Sarah. And the last memory that seemed to take forever to get rid of was one of The Room.

__________

The door creaked open as Chuck pushed the door back. When the door finally opened and he could see what was inside he threw up. It was a sight that not even the best trained agent could have handled. Right in front of him there were a pile of dead bodies. None of the people he knew. But when he turned the corner he truly saw the evils of the room.

Any agents that were screaming behind him he couldn't hear. The only thing he could think of was the barely-breathing body that lay no more or less than five feet in front of him. There were no tears spilled over the sight. Those would come later. Right now all he could think was 'how could they do this to her?' His feet ran clumsily to her and his knees stopped working the minute he could see her injuries.

Her blonde hair lay flawlessly across the floor and her face. Somehow she had managed to smile when she saw him. She knew what was coming but she wasn't afraid. She had him. Slowly he moved his hand to a strand of blonde hair and pushed it away from her face behind her ear. It was the intimate moment he had always wanted, but this was definitely the moment he didn't want to have it in.

"Sarah..." he murmured to her. Their hands danced around and interlocked. Her grip was weak and his was strong but he tried to ignore it. She opened her mouth to talk, but the only sound that came out was a groan of pain. A single tear fell from his eyes onto her bloodied shirt. He wanted to tell her everything but there wasn't enough time. There just wasn't.

"Chuck...I...love....you," she managed to get out. His tears fell quicker and came more often now, but when he looked into her blue eyes they were clear without a single tear in them. Slowly he moved his head down to her lips to kiss her. When their lips finally made contact he finally saw his future flash before his eyes. There were little kids running around in circles and he had his arm around her hip. She had her head resting on his shoulder and they were staring out on their backyard that was surrounded by a white picket fence. Their dog was running around with the kids. But as he imagined this it was too late. Just like that, she was gone. And so was the part of him that actually cared about life.

They had to rip him from her body. He was pretty sure he might have taken one or two of the men out, but he couldn't be sure. Everything after that was a blur. Just like his life after that incident.

* * *

Somehow when the man hit him again, he remained emotionless. "So this is how Sarah felt?" he asked himself as the man continued to hit him. By now he knew that he was black and blue, but he probably had been for awhile. The scars on his back stung every time the man hit him and his broken ribs made it almost impossible breath. Although other things were broken, he was pretty sure that those didn't affect him so severely. They just hurt. The pain had made him black out a few times already, but he didn't want that. He couldn't feel the pain. He couldn't feel what she felt.

Slowly he faded away. Eventually, after what felt like hours of torture, he heard screams and saw the door open. Everything was a blur by now to him, but he could tell that they were CIA agents coming in. He heard shouts of his name and gunfire, but he wasn't sure what was what anymore. It all seemed like a dream. A dream that happened after he had been taking something weird.

He felt touch of a hand on his wrist and a shout after that, but he didn't hear what the shout was about. He was fading away quickly now, and his vision turned white. He couldn't hear anything, taste, feel, smell, or see anything by now. It was silent and white. But in all of the white there was something he saw.

Directly in front of him, he saw Sarah. The light was cascading off of her blonde hair and she looked warm and welcoming. He was pretty sure it was the most beautiful he had ever seen her, but to him she was always beautiful. He walked toward him and she took his hand in hers. They both smiled and looked down. He put his hand around her hip and she rested her hand on his shoulder and they started to dance in a circle.

Through their grins they could both tell something. For once something was going to be alright. Everything was going to be fine.


End file.
